Colour Of The Trap
by Never-Clip-My-Wings-x
Summary: Anais Lines was a tough girl, and Nicki had seen something of herself in her. And when, almost a decade later, she re-enters Nicki's life by way of a letter, the events which follow will be those which neither could ever have possibly imagined. Tom/Nicki.


"You know what, Beth, you can say whatever you like about me and I couldn't care less, but don't you _dare_ involve my brother, you little sket!" Anais Lines spat at Beth Murray, Kyle Stack's rather common, unintelligent girlfriend as they walked down the English corridor towards Mr Clarkson and Miss Boston, who merely gave each other a look which signified that they knew exactly what was about to happen between the two young women.

"Oh yeah, well your _brother_ ain't here to stand up for himself, is he?" Beth added, raising her badly pencilled eyebrows at the slightly shorter girl now stood directly in front of her, blocking her from moving. A small crowd had built up around the two teenagers in the corridor, made up mainly of lower school pupils who wanted to experience two older girls fighting and tell their friends, and upper school pupils who fancied skiving class.

Almost without warning, Anais grabbed a fistful of Beth's badly dyed cherry coloured hair and slammed her hard into the cream wall of Mr Budgen's classroom, apparently setting about pulling off the girl's cheap looking fake eyelashes before she had chance to respond. Just as she succeeded, Beth seemed to come to her senses and tried to pull a clump Anais' long, curly, brunette hair out, which only aggravated the Year Eleven further, prompting a stream of swear words and X-rated insults which could have turned the air blue to flow from the brunette's mouth while she threw the other girl against the window on the opposite side of the narrow corridor, picking her up when probably weighed a stone or two more than her and pushing her around like a rag doll.

Anais landed a square punch on Beth's chin, blocking the girl's orange-hued hands from her face with her left hand and pushing her away with all her might, which was quite considerable for a girl who looked, frankly, as if she could do with a good meal. It was at this point that Kyle chose to take on his girlfriend's attacker; trying to punch her in the nose and missing when she dodged his already scarred knuckles, and instead kicked him where it really, _really_ hurt; satisfied by the groan of pain she received until he grabbed her Harrington jacket and pulled her violently towards him.

Suddenly, there were forces pulling the two teenagers apart; Miss Boston with a firm hold on Anais' bony shoulders while Mr. Clarkson yanked Kyle away from the girl and practically pushed him down the stairs, shouting to Ms. Diamond to sort Beth out in the headmaster's office.

Anais went to go after Kyle or his girlfriend, her anger at the two still unresolved, only to be pulled back with the ferocity she probably should have expected from Miss Boston and taken into the Pastoral Care office; knuckles bleeding and hair stuck up in all different directions from the altercation which had just occurred in the corridor. There was blood on her white shirt; splatters of it across her chest and abdomen, and a few strands of over-straightened hair stuck in the zip of her black jacket from when she'd grabbed Beth's hair about five minutes ago.

"Sit down, Anais." Miss Boston practically barked at her, and she obeyed out of slight fear; a feeling she never thought she'd feel from something anybody had said, never mind her English teacher. Anais wasn't the sort of girl who allowed herself to be intimidated – that was something that she was proud of.

As the teenager sat down, Miss Boston's face seemed to soften a little as she reached for a first aid kit underneath one of the desks in the corner of the classroom and took it over to the table where Anais now sat. She opened the kit, taking out some gauze, antiseptic wipes and dressing and taking Anais' slight, pale hand in hers.

"I probably shouldn't say this," Nicki began in a low voice so that her pupil practically had to strain to hear her, "But that was one hell of a fight you put up there." She told Anais, sitting on the table and opening an anti-septic wipe.

Anais smiled; if there was something she was proud of herself for, it was her proficiency in sticking up for herself – a skill that she'd been able to practice in her sixteen years spent on various council estates – she'd been taught from an early age to both receive and give violence. She didn't generally fight for the sake of it, but if somebody hit her, she'd hit them back ten times harder, because it was the only way to make sure they took her seriously. She hissed in pain as Miss Boston dabbed at her split knuckles, cursing under her breath as the small wipe soaked up the crimson blood before her teacher discarded the wipe on the table and stood to pick up the dressing from the old desk at the front of the room.

The door of the office opened and in walked Mr Clarkson, the sleeves rolled up on his blue shirt and his tie loosened as usual. Anais noticed the way that he and Miss Boston looked at each other, even for a brief moment, and looked down, smiling to herself for a second before looking back up to the sound of the deputy head's voice cutting through her thoughts.

"Anais? Care to give me your version of events?" he asked, leaning over the table at which the pupil sat; knuckles on her right hand bleeding onto the table and leaving a scarlet stain on the ash coloured wood, bearing various names written in pens from when other pupils had been sat at the desk, bored witless.

"She was saying stuff about my brother, sir. She says things about me all the time and I'm not bothered, y'know, but at the end of the day, he's my brother and that's right out of order for her to make stuff up about him." She explained with a sigh, running her uninjured hand through her near-black hair, before being interrupted by Miss Boston.

"Tom, let me bandage her hand before you ask her anything." She murmured, touching his arm gently in a way Anais was pretty much convinced that only people attracted to each other could manage, and as he moved out of the way, she sat down on the table once more and began bandaging her hand expertly.

"What did she say?" she asked the teenager softly as she double checked the bandaging and began to clear the first aid kit away back into the box, leaning across the table to grasp the roll of gauze which had ended up about a metre away from where she'd just put it.

"Said he got what was coming to him – she said he deserved it."

"What did happen to him, Anais?" Mr Clarkson pressed cautiously, realising how delicate the subject he was broaching was.

"He got beaten up in Manchester when he was there with his mates for a stag do last year," she paused, looking down at her swollen hand, "He died in September." A single tear rolled down her pale skin, taking some jet black eyeliner with it and leaving an ink-like stain on her face. She was a reasonably pretty girl, although not exceptionally so – wide, blue eyes with flecks of green in them, smooth, fair skin with a tiny beauty spot beneath her right eye and full lips with a natural rosy tint.

The two teachers looked at each other for a second silently, as if they weren't talking out of respect for Anais' older brother. Anais sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her bandaged hand and pressing her lips together to compose herself.

"It's not what you want to hear, but I'm not sorry I hit her. I'd do it again if she said something like that, I mean, she's been winding me up for months now, and it's right out of order for her to say that about my brother. I should have bloody killed her."

She felt someone put a hand on her shoulder, and realised that it was Mr. Clarkson, his intense, blue eyes looking almost straight through her as he told her that he and Miss Boston would be outside for a minute or so, to help herself to a cup of tea as they exited the room, both of them standing in the corridor and conversing softly.

Anais got up and walked over to the kettle kept by a small fridge in the corner of the room which happened to be closest to the part of the corridor in which her two teachers were stood talking. As she turned the kettle on, she began to listen subconsciously to their conversation, trying to hide her smile as she did so. She was a tough girl, but romance wasn't lost on her – nor was the chemistry between her two teachers, as she was sorely tempted to tell them, if only to see their reactions. Perhaps, one day, they'd see it too.

* * *

"Miss, you were in the Army, weren't you?" Anais asked quietly as she cradled her cup of steaming hot tea whilst sat cross-legged on the chair, across the table from her English teacher who seemed intent upon boring a hole in her head with her piercing blue gaze.

"Yes, I was," Nicki paused, for a moment a little confused as to why she was asking, "Why do you ask?" she questioned, although she already knew the answer.

"I..." the teenager started, glancing down at her black, unsweetened tea like she thought she'd find a way to phrase the sentence she was about to begin in the thin, dark liquid, "I was thinking about joining up. D'you think I've got what it takes?"

The older woman smiled to herself vaguely, before composing her response to the sentence with great care.

"It's not a decision you can take lightly, believe me. Being a soldier... it's not for everyone, Anais; it doesn't leave you when you leave the job. It affects you in ways you can't possibly imagine. But if you know that's what you want to do, then yes, I do think you have what it takes."

"Thank you, miss. Thanks." She smiled, and Nicki realised that, although she wasn't an especially remarkable girl in her neutral features, when she smiled, she could light up a room. She was special in that she would, one day, achieve her exact aim in life, or die trying. And that wasn't something that many people would ever be able to say.

* * *

_Miss Boston,_

_I don't expect that you remember me, because I wasn't a very academic student. I didn't get top grades in all my subjects, and I wasn't exactly a well behaved pupil. But you might remember the fight I had with Beth Murray in Year 11 – it was after you'd separated us that you told me I could make it in the Army. And that's what I did._

_I'm a Captain now; I've served for just over eight years, and I'm going on my fourth tour of Afghanistan next week – and I felt, really, that I should write to you and let you know what's happened to me in that time._

_After I left school, I joined up, as I said I would, and became a soldier. My first tour was Afghanistan for six months, followed by Cyprus, then another tour of Afghan, then Kosovo, followed by Sierra Leone, back to Afghan, then Northern Ireland, and now back to Afghan. Actually, my Major knew you – he was one of your Lieutenants back in Iraq apparently. Daniel Longman – do you remember him by any chance? It seems you made an impression on him._

_Anyway, I'd like to think you'd be proud of me. I'd like to think that I'd be one of those 'successes' that you always used to bang on about when I was at school. And I want you to know that, if I died tomorrow, I'd be a happy girl – thank you._

_Captain Anais Lines-Hayes, British Army._

* * *

_To be continued; it's not very long, nor is it especially exciting right now, but I promise that the next chapters will be. And prepare for at least two other fics to be updated this week (shock!), as well as a possible one shot._


End file.
